Page 66 of What a Scot Wants
She was the furthest thing from a delicate miss. She was intelligent and indomitable, and she cared for those who were not as fortunate as she. He’d been so caught up in preserving his hold on Maclaren Distillery and in emerging as the victor of his and Imogen’s battle of wills that he hadn’t stopped to consider all he’d learned about her and that she was no longer a stranger.
The easy answer was that hewouldchoose her now, just by virtue of who she was. The irony wasn’t lost on him…that he was fighting to rid himself of a woman he actually liked…whom hecouldconceive of as the future Duchess of Dunrannoch.
“Yes, well, you’re right,” Aisla said, breaking into his thoughts. “You should be able to choose your future wife or, in this case,notchoose her. So do it.”
She rose onto the tips of her toes to kiss him on the cheek, and he scowled, though it turned into a grin. “I thought ye were angry with me.”
“I am. But I also love you, my dear brother-in-law, and I truly do want you to be happy. What you’re doing with Grace is not the way. The brother I know would never let his honor come into question. Either honor your betrothal, honorher, or walk away.”
Aisla left him then, retreating down the row the way they’d come. He watched her go, his mind as crowded as that damned garden. Honor a marriage that neither of them wanted? They’d each had their reasons why at the start of all this. How much could they have possibly changed in the past few weeks? And yet, with dawning surprise, Ronan realized many things had.
Aisla was right. He had to decide one way or another…between his unconventional bride and an uncertain future or his own stubborn pride.
…
Lying in bed with her blankets and pillows rumpled around her head, Imogen sighed. She was at her wit’s end with the balls and the musicales and the endless soirees.
Between managing Silas’s unswerving attentions—somehow the arrogant knave managed to show up wherever she was—and watching another woman drape herself all over Ronan, Imogen’s patience was taking a beating.
In truth, the jealousy over the latter had taken her by surprise. She hadn’t expected to feel anything with respect to Grace except relief that she was drawing Ronan’s attentions, but the woman’s overt flirtation had been hard to stomach. Grace was beautiful, and she’d been Ronan’s first love. Hehadto have feelings for her, and regardless of whether she’d made a mistake by marrying another, clearly she hadn’t gotten over hers for him. No, Imogen wouldn’t stand in their way. Because Lady Reid was her way out.
Then why on earth does the thought of her being Ronan’s wife make me so miserable?
Imogen had no answers. There was no place for the Highlander in her life. No matter how protective and strong or bloody handsome he was. Warmth gathered low in her belly. He’d claimed to want her in the hot air balloon.Ye light my blood on fire, Imogen.
The memory of his words litheron fire.
“This is impossible,” she muttered.
“What is impossible, my lady?” Hilda’s voice inquired.
Imogen moved the pillow from her face. “Deterring the Highlander. Dealing with Silas. All of it. I wish I was back in Edinburgh with the girls at Haven and none of this had ever happened. What are the odds that this is all a dream and I’ll wake up and everything will be back to normal?”
Hilda snorted. “Slim.”
Imogen launched the pillow at her. “Some comfort you are.”
“I’m simply realistic, my lady.” Hilda retrieved the pillow. “Now, come. We need to get you ready.”
Her limbs were heavy and lethargic as she allowed Hilda to dress her for that night’s ball, which would take place at Lord and Lady Langlevit’s home in Mayfair. There was still another full week before her engagement ball. Seven days full of musicales, soirees, and more interminable balls. Imogen wasn’t sure how she was going to make it.
She truly wished she could just go back to Edinburgh and seal herself inside Haven. She needed to feel grounded and not so unhinged.
I think ye hide behind Haven. Ye use it as a shield.
Ronan had accused her of this, and, considering her current longing, Imogen wondered if he’d seen something in her that she hadn’t. But Haven made her feel safe, just as it was intended to do for the women it provided shelter and care for. Managing the space gave her comfort. Not just the shelter, but the work itself; helping other women helpedher. Ronan was wrong. Shewasn’tusing Haven to hide.
Once ready, Imogen went to the foyer, only to learn that her betrothed had sent a message apologizing that he would be unable to escort her to the ball. The pang she felt just under her ribs infuriated her. Since when had she come to count on Ronan being there? Onwantinghim there? She felt herself sinking, unable to battle the gravid pressure settling around her shoulders as she stepped from the carriage and into the London home of Lord and Lady Langlevit. As she was announced and felt eyes pressing toward her, no doubt searching for her fiancé, Imogen half hoped Ronan was already present.
She took a glass of champagne and saw her parents on the opposite end of the ballroom. Imogen stopped herself from making her way toward them. If Silas was here, he would likely be close by as well. She didn’t see him, but the place was a crush. Unlike Ronan’s towering frame, Silas’s was slighter, easier to blend into the crowds. He could be anywhere, waiting to strike like a snake.
Imogen moved toward a cluster of chattering ladies, clearly discussing the latest on-dit if their furtive and entertained expressions said anything at all.
“…only a matter of time, I’m sure,” one of the women said as she drew close enough to overhear.
“Lady Reid has her sights on him,” another said.
“That charity girl is no prize herself.”
